Tag Archives: my ipod

#1349: Pixies – There Goes My Gun

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I have a feeling this song has the same sort of rep as the last one I wrote about a couple days ago. ‘There Goes My Gun’ isn’t the shortest song on Pixies’ Doolittle, but it’s pretty close to being so. It looks more like something to warm you up before getting into the meat of ‘Hey’ that follows. Might be considered something of a track of low importance. I’m not sure, I’m not within many circles who have Pixies in their listening radar who could verify whether that last sentence is the case or not. On Spotify, it does have the second lowest number plays on the album, so I’ll have to take that as some kind of consensus. But when it comes to me, I enjoy the hell out of it. Again, one of my favourites on this particular album, which some reading may find peculiar. Maybe not. I don’t know what to tell you. Sometimes it’s those short, unassuming numbers on certain albums that turn out to be the standouts for me.

The track is one of very few words/lines. They are as follows: “Yoo hoo”, “There goes my gun” – which as a chorus is repeated a number of times – “Look at me” and “Friend or foe”. Very economical, indeed. A prime example showing you don’t need much into order to make a song. Least in terms of the lyrics. According to frontman Black Francis/Frank Black/Charles Thompson, the song is a scene where the narrator is yelling each verse into a sort of dark abyss/expanse of space before proceeding to shoot their gun as they continue to get no kind of response. That’s certainly a unique situation for inspiration of a song. I like the track for its minor-keyness, which doesn’t make it sound sad but more threatening like something’s about to jump out the shadows and strike, and for its heavy swinging motion. I feel like I’ve written a lot about swinging feels in songs lately. What’s this one in, 12/8? That can be the best time signature.

Doolittle is an album full of unhinged vocal performances by Francis. ‘There Goes My Gun’… actually might be one that comes a little lower on that spectrum. Maybe in the middle. But he does provide a great contrast of yelling in the verses and switching to the melodic singing for the choruses. And then in those, Kim Deal responds to Francis’s ‘there goes my gun’ line… by repeating the same phrase, but with that sweet tone of hers in comparison. Those Francis-Deal vocal back-and-forths the highlight of many a Pixies song. It’s no different here. David Lovering’s pounding those drums, feels like there’s an extra oomph in those toms. Joey Santiago’s bending a string to make for an unusual guitar riff. And I don’t think I truly appreciated this song until I watched a video where I saw what Francis was doing on the rhythm guitar, particularly during the choruses. I’m sure it was the video, below, of them at Glastonbury in 1989. He goes on a run down the guitar neck before sliding up again and resolving into the minor-chord of the verse. Just adds that extra movement in the music. Thumbs up, thumbs up.

#1348: The Velvet Underground – That’s the Story of My Life

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‘That’s the Story of My Life’ is a tune from The Velvet Underground’s self-titled album from 1969, one I heard when I came across that particular record… I think some time in 2013. I was going through a best ever albums list on a site called besteveralbums.com. That’s a place I’ve shouted-out many a time on here, it’s never done me wrong. The Velvet Underground was placed relatively high on that list, and through listening 18- or 19-year-old me was exposed to tracks like ‘Pale Blue Eyes’, ‘Beginning to See the Light’, ‘Jesus’… There’s a lot of good stuff on there. ‘That’s the Story…’ is the album’s shortest song. Some may even argue it a little inconsequential, more a palate cleanser for the huge experimental track that follows. I’m sure I probably felt the same way, initially. But at this point it’s more or less one of my favourites on the LP. Once you’ve got the lyrics down, it’s hard to get the whole track out of your head.

And it’s very easy to memorise those words because there’s only one verse, one that’s repeated a couple more times before the song finishes with a flourish. “That’s the story of my life / That’s the difference between wrong and right / But Billy said that both those words are dead / That’s the story of my life”. Very concise, very simple, great little melody alongside a swinging acoustic feel. It does the job as a song. What it all means is something that’s passed me by. Even with the limited number of words used, I’ve always kind of felt there was a lot being said. But what it is, I couldn’t tell. Thankfully, this YouTuber did a video essay all about the album – I’m linking to where they talk about ‘Story’, but the whole thing’s worth a viewing – covering the track in some depth. In a way, they highlight ‘That’s the Story…’ as being one of the most important songs on the LP as it sums up the paradox at the core of it. The difference between wrong and right, good love and bad love. I’m just typing out what they say. It would be much better if you saw it for yourself.

So yeah, that’s the story of my story with this song. Why aren’t there more songs from The Velvet Underground on this blog, you might ask. I made the decision to stop adding songs to my phone in about 2021, and it seems between 2013 and then ‘Jesus’ and this one were the only two on the album that I really, really enjoyed. I’ve got a few more from there on my Liked Songs playlist on Spotify, a streaming service that I know very few people like anymore for very understandable reasons. I’ve come to appreciate the album a lot in the past few years. Not ’cause of the whole context of the band doing a whole 180 in sound after founding member John Cale left and seemingly took the abrasive, freakier side of the music with him. I think I’ve just matured enough as a person that I can listen to each song on there and realise how good each one is. Plus, it must have influenced so many people. Anyone else hear Julian Casablancas or Stephen Malkmus throughout it all? Sounds like they got their whole style from this one project. I’m glad it exists.

#1347: James Dean Bradfield – That’s No Way to Tell a Lie

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After finishing what was to be their last tour for a couple years in 2005, the members of Manic Street Preachers took a little break from each other. During that time, drummer Sean Moore… well, no one really knows, but I’m sure he had a good one. Bass guitarist and lyricist Nicky Wire went and recorded a solo album, released in 2006, called I Killed the Zeitgeist. And in the same year came The Great Western, James Dean Bradfield’s first solo project. Bradfield, as many may know, is the lead singer of the Manics, taking great pride in writing the music of the band’s songs alongside Moore. It wasn’t until 2001 that fans got a completely penned Bradfield song, covering music and lyrics, in the form of ‘Ocean Spray’. So how would a whole album of Bradfield-written tracks turn out? I can’t say myself, I’ve never listened to the whole thing. But the one track I know from there, the album’s opener and selected first single, I’ve enjoyed for a very long time. I guess almost 20 years now, ain’t that something?

I saw the video for ‘That’s No Way to Tell a Lie’ once on TV, and it feels like it was never played again. It most likely was. But if that’s the case, I didn’t see it. The video showed up, not on MTV2 but VH2 when that was a channel in the UK. I was sitting on the floor chilling, as you do when you’re 11 years old, watching Bradfield getting dunked into a lake while another Bradfield in shades watches on accompanied by some Asian mobsters while the song played over the top. I didn’t know what was going on. The song sounded all right, though. The chorus where the title’s sung a couple times left a mark. The visual of the mobsters lip-syncing the “Sha-la-la-la” vocals in the break were funny. The video finished, life happened. I’m sure I kept the song in the back of my mind for a while. But then it got to a point where I couldn’t get away from it later on in 2006, because someone at the BBC decided the track would make good backing music for the Goal of the Month competition on Match of the Day. It was like that for a good two seasons of football. Was singing along to it probably every time. So there you go. I was locked in.

I’ve been singing along to the lyrics and enjoying the music to this for so long now, I’ve never thought to go and really dig deep into what the song’s about. I did always like the “I hear you’ve got something to say / But first you need some people to say it to / Just before you rise from the dead” lines. I don’t know just something to the sound of them. But in Bradfield’s words, the song’s about “the push and pull of your head and your heart telling you different, conflicting things about the way you should feel about religion”. Your head saying, “No,” but your heart saying “Yes”. He says so here. I never would have thought that. But I guess mentions of ‘lost souls on a pilgrimage’ and the ‘rise from the dead’ does give way to that context, with the whole ‘that’s no way to tell a lie’ idea being a flat-out rejection of the religious imagery that sways people to believe in it. Or something? Honestly, I don’t know. I just like the song. Knowing what it’s about doesn’t make me like it any less.

#1346: Fleetwood Mac – That’s All for Everyone

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In January 2014, it was officially announced Christine McVie would be rejoining Fleetwood Mac after leaving the group 15 years earlier to pursue this nice little thing called retirement. I was working as the host on my radio show back in university and used that news to slide in a Fleetwood Mac song into its playlist, specifically ‘Think About Me’ which McVie wrote and took lead vocals on. I write all this to say I must have listened through Tusk in order to get to know that song and the one that’s the subject of today’s post. When exactly I downloaded the band’s 1979 double album is something I can’t tell. All the info is on my old, very, very slow laptop whose monitor doesn’t turn on and that I have to connect to the TV in order to see what’s going on. I’ll get back to you on that one. I do have a hazy memory of being sat at my desk in my room and hearing ‘That’s All for Everyone’ and liking it then and there. But I need those dates to be sure.*

Of the first 10 tracks of Tusk, half of them were written by guitarist and vocalist Lindsey Buckingham. It’s no secret the guy took the reins after the band’s success with Rumours, insisting the band go in a different direction to avoid creating a virtual sequel. He cut his hair. He was reportedly lying down on the ground in strange positions while laying down vocals. He was certainly inspired. ‘That’s All for Everyone’ got me because… man, I could just sink into a bed while listening to it. The whole production behind it is so light and tasteful. Gentle charango strumming, a kind of lute that I never knew was used in this song until writing this. John McVie’s bass guitar working those lines. The kalimba playing those downward scales at various points. And of course the harmonies by all three songwriters. My favourite part of the entire track comes in the form of those wordless vocalizations that come in at 1:42, where you’d probably expect something like a guitar solo. An absolute moment of euphoria right there.

The song was inspired by that universal moment when the house lights come on at the end of an event and it’s time for everyone to go home. But there’s also a very human feeling about the song that I think everyone can relate to. That feeling of ‘that’s enough’ / ‘I’m done’… that feeling of just letting it all go and having a solid inner peace that comes along with it. At least that’s what I get when I hear this specific combination of words and music. It’s very mantra-like. Something to recite to yourself when trying to find that state of relaxation. Meditative is the word, it’s a very meditative track. I appreciate it a lot. It’s sort of undercut by the rocking, in-your-face number – also by Buckingham – that follows it on the album, but I’m sure that’s done very purposely. But that point is neither here nor there. ‘That’s All for Everyone’ is a fine track. Tame Impala did a cover of it a while back. I guess that’s all right. It’s all about the original for me.

*So I looked, and I downloaded the album on the 30th December 2013. That means I would have been home for the holidays. I certainly listened to it at uni, though.

#1345: Queens of the Stone Age – Tension Head

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For the longest I wondered, “What does ‘tension head’ mean?” The phrase is the title of the ninth song on Queens of the Stone Age’s 2000 album, Rated R, and the third and final one where former bass guitarist Nick Oliveri takes the role of lead vocalist. ‘Tension Head’, the words by themselves, just sounded cool. One of those occasions where the song title doesn’t appear in the lyrics and appears to have no association to them, but somehow suits the music like a glove. But I listened to it one day, years after getting to know it initially, and had that “Ohhh” realization feeling when considering the lyric, “I strike a match”. That’s what the title refers to, the part at the end of a match that’s used to make the flame. Apparently, that’s simply called the ‘head’ of the match. It should probably be called ‘tension head’, though. That would stick with the kids for as long as they live.

I guess you get the three sides of Nick Oliveri on Rated R. First up he delivers the melodic, alt-rock, double entendre of ‘Auto Pilot’, another favourite of mine from the record. The second arrives on the sub-two minute, hit-and-quit ‘Quick and to the Pointless’ where you can tell Oliveri may be a little crazy through his vocal delivery and the subject matter. But ‘Tension Head’ is the one that showcases the full-blown maniac in full force. He kind of “sings” the very first lines of the two verses, otherwise he’s about to burst a blood vessel or two due to how powerfully he screams almost every other line. I guess, the ‘tension head’ of the title mainly refers to the match lyric, but the whole track feels very tense itself. The track does have an undeniable groove going on in the verses, which is then swiftly discarded for the pummeling rhythm for the choruses with that quirky guitar line in the right channel. The only moment I can think of where you’re able to breathe a little while is when the guitars ring out at the end of the breakdown two minutes in, before falling right into the hectic ending. Song’s borderline frightening, it’s awesome. Like it a lot.

I think the song is about a character who knows they are currently situated within the pits of their own existence, on a downward spiral of some kind, but insists on trying to maintain that high by going out in the town to ‘get right’ by ‘hustling little girls’ and ‘cheating little boys’. Not the first time Oliveri mentions ‘little girls’ on this album either, must have been something going on in his life he needed to sort out. What the cause is for the narrator ‘feeling so fucking sick on the bathroom floor’ is never stated outright, but with the mentions of ‘cooking it up’ and ‘feeling so sick on the bathroom floor’, I would say, heavily implies the intake of a drug or two. The contradictory nature of the narrator’s behaviour is summed up in the “highlife, lowlife” lyric that’s whispered underneath all the choruses. The last note in the guitar solo is left ringing out on its own, only alleviated by the beginning of the following instrumental song. What happens to the narrator of ‘Tension Head’? We don’t know. It doesn’t look good. But what a way for Oliveri to peace out from the album with only two songs left to go. Also, the song is just a re-recording of a tune Oliveri did with his own band a few years earlier. I feel like I knew this already, but I must have forgotten. So it’s nice to find out again. ‘Tension Head’ owns it.